


A Thief And His Lies

by GarGoyl



Series: BringBackHetalia Prompts&One-shots [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Age Difference, Longing, M/M, Secret Crush, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-05-13 17:31:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19255882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GarGoyl/pseuds/GarGoyl
Summary: If you pay for something with fake coin, then you are a thief. Antonio paid for these moments with a few crafted lies. Or maybe they’re half-lies, because he could make them true.





	A Thief And His Lies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lluviadinoche](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lluviadinoche/gifts).



> Hello everyone! I came up with this short Spamano oneshot for lluviadinoche's Tomato Lovers Week 2019 on Tumblr and the day's prompt was The 1950s. I don't know if I nailed it or not, but the story itself is okay :)

 

The heat won’t let up.

Antonio tugs at his collar, the stiff fabric sticking to his skin below the short, curly strands at the nape of his neck.  The hushed, monotonous sound of the wooden fan hanging from the ceiling adds to his drowsiness, along with the fine single malt in his glass, but it’s not enough.  He knows that if he goes upstairs to his room – to _their_ room – sleep won’t take him and he will just lie in the dark, eyes wide open, thinking about how he’s a thief.

Sometimes, Lovino will ask him about how the book is coming along, and he dreads it as he watches the boy busying himself behind the bar counter, waiting for the last patrons of the evening to take their leave. If he asks, Antonio will have to come up with yet another lie.  

Sighing, he picks up a napkin and wipes his brow. He never liked sweat, yet right now he would gladly kiss the shiny beads nestled above Lovino’s upper lip. If only he could. If only he was allowed.

If you pay for something with fake coin, then you are a thief.

Antonio paid for these moments with a few crafted lies. Or maybe they’re half-lies, because he could make them true. He could actually start to write a book. Still, he could just as well find a lax job somewhere else, at a different newspaper, he could rent a better room he wouldn’t have to share with anyone. It doesn’t have to be _here_.

Except it does, because he _needs_ to be here, around the Italian boy he’s so tragically infatuated with. He needs to keep stealing these moments together.   

Fingers dancing on the damp sides of his glass, he throws a furtive glance towards Lovino, who is now scrubbing the counter top with a crumpled piece of newspaper, a vague scowl on his face. The boy doesn’t smile much, but the crease between his thin, arched eyebrows is as charming as a benevolent curl of lips.  

“Your _Nonno_ caught me this morning, as I was leaving for work,” the Spaniard says, because the silence is suspicious, even to him. He must make _some_ conversation. “He said ‘You should stop wasting time, why don’t you get a wife? You’re already thirty-eight.’ How did he find out I’m thirty-eight? I never told him.”

He doesn’t care and it was a subject he dodged easily, with an airy smile, still, his age is the last thing he should bring up. After all, Lovino is only nineteen.

“He’s always keen on things which don’t matter at all,” the boy replies dryly, squatting under the counter to do something the other cannot see. “And Heaven forbid he’d mind his own fucking business.”

Lovino is always grumpy because he’s tired, he has to take care of everything.

 _Nonno_ has lost his only son and his daughter-in-law in the war and afterwards, with the last of his savings, he took his two infant grandsons and came to New York, setting up a shitty little ‘family business’. He was lucky that Lovino grew up quickly to take over, otherwise it would have gone down the drain by now.

If he could, Antonio would take all that responsibility upon himself. He would leave his job at the newspaper and run the bar. Keep the ledgers, run after suppliers, wash the dishes and swipe the floors. He’d do all that, if he was allowed. If he had a place in Lovino’s life, if their relationship wasn’t only in his head.  

But he can’t speak of that – of his all-consuming secret – so he’ll keep lying with cheerful words and a fake smile.

“I know he has many friends around here, so I hope he’s not thinking of playing matchmaker, is he? Should I run for my life while I still can?”

The boy comes back up, running a hand through glossy chestnut hair, the strands hanging over his forehead damp and slightly darker than the rest. Antonio wants to reach out and soothe them, but his fingertips remain glued to the glass, restrained, obedient, just as fake as the rest of him.

“ _Nonno_ is a fucktard.”

The Spaniard turns his head, watching the door open and close as someone leaves, seemingly uninterested. Lovino can’t know he’s taking in every word, even if it means nothing, as if it was a blessed honey drop.

The boy takes out a pack of cigarettes and fishes one out with his teeth, leaning towards the golden flicker of Antonio’s promptly offered lighter.

“He sits on his ass all day and does nothing. Says he’s seen too much in the war, well the fucking war was over ten years ago!”  A tiny, soft cloud leaves Lovino’s lips and the other inhales the strong flavor, concealing his secret pleasure with a sigh.

“We’ve all seen too much in the war.” Antonio was twenty-four when he started off as a war correspondent. It’s not something he ever wants to talk about, and Lovino is much too young to remember a great deal of it. Too young to understand that some things don’t go away, no matter how much time passes. But then, maybe he doesn’t need to. He has his whole life ahead of him and should look forward to the future.

“You know, he keeps a gun upstairs in his drawer. A while ago he caught Feli playing with it and he said nothing; yesterday he caught him smoking in the back and bruised half his face. He can’t even fucking go to school like that.”

Lovino leans forward on his elbows, closing his eyes briefly, the rising, grey twirls veiling his face, adding a vulnerable softness to the still childish features. With a bold smile, the other reaches out, silently asking for a smoke. He doesn’t indulge usually, but wants to taste the boy’s lips on the damp paper.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Antonio presses, snatching the butt before the Italian can change his mind and taking a long, hungry drag, a little too eager. He wants to lighten the mood, but doesn’t really know how.

_You could come with me. We would go somewhere, far away, just the two of us._

Stupid words, he’ll never say them. It can’t be. It can’t. He can only steal crumbs.

Lovino scowls, probably feeling like he’s not being taken seriously, then rolls his eyes. “Jesus fuck, don’t open this subject with him! He might get that idea later on anyway, but there’s no need to stir the shit beforehand!”

Of course, the boy is talking about himself. Soon, his _Nonno_ will probably want to see him settling down with a nice Italian girl he approves of and Antonio’s stomach cringes painfully at the thought. By that time, he will be long gone. His ‘book’ will be finished and he’ll move on to better career opportunities, as the serious man he claims to be should. He takes a large gulp of his drink, welcoming the burn it leaves down his throat.

“ _Fucking_ finally…”

He catches Lovino’s gaze past his shoulder, as the door closes behind the last customer. It’s almost one in the morning.

“I’ll lock up, you go ahead upstairs,” he offers casually, pressing the cigarette butt into the ashtray and downing the last of his drink. It doesn’t look odd, that much he’s sure of, he was only up until closing a couple of times before, since he leaves for work early in the morning. He’s been keen on keeping up appearances, even if he knows these moments are numbered.

He takes his time, a smile stretching on his face now that no one can see as he hears Lovino cursing upstairs, trying to get the shower to work.


End file.
